


you've got me thinking lately

by scarlett_starlett



Series: scarlett's spideypool bingo [2]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bartender!Peter Parker, But Dadpool reigns supreme, Cute Banter, Deadpool being Deadpool, Denial of Feelings, Ellie may not be Deadpool's daughter here, M/M, Mutual Pining, Wade Wilson is still Deadpool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-18 20:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20318713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlett_starlett/pseuds/scarlett_starlett
Summary: Spideypool Bingo 2019: Sister Margaret'sThe first words Peter Parker ever said to him were, “Are you crazy, you can’t do that, you maniac! That’s a felony!” and, ableist words aside—truly, Wade expected better from the college graduate—Wade thinks that Peter may have been onto something with that wholefelonything…(AU in which Peter Parker is a part-time bartender in Sister Margaret’s and Wade Wilson accidentally adopts/accepts a job from a 7-year-old spit-fire named Ellie Camacho)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DADPOOL IS MY WEAKNESS

“Back that ass up my way, baby boy!” Wade hollers as he takes his usual seat at the front of the bar, watching Peter glance over at him with that dark look that always got his jollies tingly. 

“_Wade_,” Peter sighs, resigned. “I see you made it back from your _trip _to the Alps in one piece. _Unfortunately, _” he tacks on, and Wade’s grin widens. 

“It was beautiful, baby boy! All clear, blue skies and crisp, clean air! It was a nice relief from the smog-filled shithole that’s New York, I gotta’ take you there someday! You’d _love _ it!” Wade gushes as Peter cleans a glass, half-listening and half-attentive to potential patrons as Wade rants on and on about all the places he visited and things he saw while there, “….and it would have been a _great _adventure in cultural exploration if it hadn’t been for the cock-thistles I had to go un-alive for a humble quarter mil." 

Peter tenses and growls out, “_Wade,_” because Peter had explicitly told him before that, while he agreed to work in a very shady, very dangerous, bar that hosted a variety of mercenaries and other bad folk down in the red-light district of New York, that _did not_ mean that he wanted to hear every bloody and _illegal _excursion that the infamous “Merc with a Mouth” went on since Peter realized that he was, unfortunately, a bar regular. 

“I knew you’d fit right in, Pete,” Weasel says as he comes out from the back. “You’re even saying Wade’s name with _just _the right amount of vindictive bitterness.” 

“I _know! _” Wade squeals, not at all bothered by the twin looks of exasperation. “He’s perfect! You couldn’t have chosen a better bar boy, Weas. For once, you did something right in your miserable life. Well, that, and being a pussy magnet. I don’t know how you do it—I don’t even think you’ve bathed this entire week.” 

“Something about that _man smell _just makes the chicks wild,” Weasel drawls, voice flat. 

“That explains all the greasy prints you keep leaving on the glasses,” Peter quips, and Wade sniggers while Weasel shrugs in that _what can you do? _sort of way. 

"Fuck you, Parker."

Peter just slides Wade a whiskey and he downs it in one go, as per usual, and already has another one lined up for him, also per usual. Wade beams at Peter for always remembering, who merely ignores him, and all is right in the world. Or all _ would _ have been right in the world if the bar hadn’t suddenly gone dead silent. 

“Who the _fuck _brought their kid in here?” someone growls, and Wade turns to find a _tiny little Latina girl _standing at the entrance of the bar, holding an envelope and trying so very hard to act brave despite the dozen or so intimidating brawlers that stared down at her with varying degrees of fury and confusion. 

“Oh, my God,” Peter gasps, horrified, and immediately goes to the kid. Such a good Samaritan. “What are you doing here? Are you lost? Do you need help looking for your parents?” 

Wade watches with a cocked brow, taking a gulp of his drink. “Man, they’re gettin’ younger and younger every year.” 

“You’re tellin’ me—shit, who the hell loses a kid in back-alley New York,” Weasel grumbles, going over to Peter to help the kid before he got a lawsuit on his ass or something. Wade would have happily gone back to his drink if the little girl hadn’t called his name—or, well, his _work name. _

“N-no! I can’t go yet! I’m lookin’ for Deadpool! I-I gotta’ talk to ‘em!” She squeaks, pushing out of the bartenders’ protective space. 

“Oh, fuck, Wade, you did it now!” Weasel bursts out laughing. 

Peter looks a little green around the gills. 

“Huh? What? What’d I do now?” Wade turns around and drops his gaze down to the little girl staring up at him determinedly. “Well, _hello there._ Who are you?” 

“Are you Deadpool?” 

“That’s my name! Such a pretty girl like you heard of ugly old me? I’m truly blessed—like, really, not many toddlers are as educated as you in this field. Color me impressed,” Wade swoons, pressing a hand to his chest. Her stubborn front wavers as she tries not to smile at his theatrics and Wade grins wider. “But I’m also _curious! _What’s your name, baby girl?” 

She finally breaks and giggles, happily saying, “My name’s Ellie Camacho, Mr. Deadpool!” 

“Ellie, huh? That short for Eleanor?” 

“Yeah! How’d you know?” Ellie gasps, excitedly. 

“Because I know everything, duh! I’m Deadpool!” He preens under her impressed coos. 

“Lying to little kids, Wade? That’s low even for you,” Peter deadpans as he returns to his spot behind the bar counter, watching out for the little girl. “Deadpool isn’t even your real name.” 

Wade gasps. “Lies and slander!” 

Ellie turns wide-eyes to Peter. “It isn’t?!” 

“Deadpool’s my _middle _name,” Wade adds hastily, shooting Peter a dark look he rolls his eyes at. “Don’t listen to that heretic, he’s just jealous that I am _clearly _the cooler person in this conversation! Ignore him. So, how’d a cute little kid like you hear about a low-life like me?” 

“My mommy.” 

Wade stares at her. “Please tell me you’re kidding, I thought this was the universe where I _didn’t _have that one-night stand.” 

Weasel bursts out laughing 

Peter covers his mouth, wide-eyed. 

“Nope!” Ellie beams, oblivious to the tension in the room. 

“You’re _really _throwing off my life plans here, kiddo. I had a whole three-year-plan. Get a better crib, find that rare Venom/Spider-Man comic that will cost me half my retirement, romance that heretically cute bartender over there and con him into living with me and topping every now and then, and then settling down in the Canadian outback, have a beer, and wait for this to all blow over,” he rambles, heading more and more into panic attack territory with each word until the kid says: 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Deadpool. It’s just—um, my mommy says—she says you get rid of bad people for stuff. She told me! She told me lots about you, but she said she doesn't have any money to talk to you about it. So, um, I, um, I’m hopin’ you could do it for me because I need help and I have stuff! To get rid of someone! Because I can’t,” she fumbles, and Wade’s dread is replaced with a different kind of horror—one that has the manic smile on his face faltering as the kid hands him an envelope. Weasel decidedly shuts up after that. The entire bar is silent. “I didn’t…_ know _how to find you so I had to-to ask aroun’,” she pushes the envelope in his hand insistently when he doesn’t take it. “But I found you! I want you to take care of a bad man because I can’t! I know you’re busy, but I got some stuff you might like! If you don’t like it, um…I can…try something else…” 

Wade recovers in a flash and hums exaggeratedly loud, leaning down close to the little girl who watches him avidly. “Oh, why didn’t you say so from the _beginning_! A client, aye? How old are ya’, baby girl?” 

“I’m seven years old! I’m gonna’ be _eight_ in September!” She puffs out her chest. 

“_Seven-years-old_,” Peter wheezes, horrified. Whispers and murmurs spread through the bar.

“Hey, HEY! Anyone snitches and I’m hitchin’ Wade’s tab on you!” Weasel warns, and the bar grumbles low but remains quiet as some eavesdrop while others resume their usual rowdiness. 

“Oooh, only seven, huh?” Wade winces at that, ignoring everyone else, looking suitably disappointed. 

“What? What?” she gasps, wide-eyed. “What is it?!” 

“It’s just…I hate to tell you this, but, unfortunately, you gotta’ be _ at least _ twelve to request my services, baby girl,” he holds his hands up in a shrug and her entire face crumbles, shoulders drooping in despair. Wade frowns at that and reaches down to pick her up, ignoring Peter’s hiss of his name. He sits her on his thigh and she immediately places her hands on her lap, looking up at him all wide-eyed and sad. God. It should be _ illegal _to look that sad. Wade would shoot anyone dead in the fucking forehead if they ever made her cry, he decides suddenly. “I don’t make the rules, kiddo! The Counsel of Getting Rid of Very Bad Men made their verdicts years ago and I have zero power in changing their opinion, I’m sorry. I’ll pass on your letter to them, though,” he tells her solemnly. 

“Promise?” 

“I promise, honey.” 

“Don’t promise her lies, Wade. I know you’re all about breaking them while they’re young, but this is a little too much even for you,” Weasel drones, no longer interested in the kid now that he knows she isn’t there for possible child support. 

“We should be looking for her _mom_. She must be worried sick,” Peter reminds loudly, giving Wade a _look _. 

“Oh, psh! She can stay here for a few more minutes, right, baby girl?” 

Ellie nods, troubled. “Maybe if I ask again when I’m ten?” she says, hopefully. “But maybe mommy won’t be here when I’m ten…” she adds, distraught, and Wade flicks his eyes down at to the letter he placed on the bar table. 

He has a bad feeling about this. 

“Weeell, maybe I can convince the Counsel to give you a shot, ya’ know? I know a guy there. He’s kind of a dick, but he owes me some favors, so if I play this right then I can—” Wade cuts himself off, staring at the letter. He stares at the letter for a few seconds, face blank, eyes hard. He rereads it but he can’t quite wrap his mind around what it says. “What’s your dad’s name, baby girl?” Wade suddenly grins, cheerful. 

“Bartol Ulter!” Ellie pronounces slowly, like she practiced a lot. “And he’s not my dad!” 

“_Fancy _—tell me, is he as much of a dickhead as his name suggests?” Wade asks pleasantly. 

“Wade, she’s _seven!” _Peter growls. 

“He’s an asshole,” Ellie states and Wade bursts out laughing, holding her tighter to him when he buckles forward in his glee. Ellie’s sad look wobbles and she dares to smile just a little bit, eyes still sad but less so than before. 

“Oh, my God, you are a riot! I like you, Ellie—hey, listen, maybe I’ll do ya’ a favor and help you out here,” Wade says, and holds a hand up to Peter and Weasel when they immediately round on him at the suggestion. “How about I take ya’ home before your mom calls the entire NYPD to come find ya’ and I have a little_ talk _with your daddy, huh?” 

“He’s not my dad,” she insists again. 

“Alright—let’s just call him _that asshole, _capiche?” 

“What’s capiche?” 

“I hear it’s a kind of pasta or something,” Wade answers instantly. 

Ellie nods solemnly. 

“It’s _not _ —ugh, Wade, hey, can I have a moment with you? Over there?” Peter hisses. “ _ Alone?” _

“You can have more than just a moment alone with me, baby boy,” Wade winks but sits Ellie down in his stool, giving her a stern look. “Stay here and if someone talks to you, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do but also don’t do anything I_ would _do. And, hey!” He points a stern finger at her. “No drinking, alright? You drink too much already, you baby alcoholic! For shame!” 

Ellie laughs brightly. 

Wade’s heart bleeds for her. 

He’s been in it since she called her step-dad an _asshole. _

“What the _hell _do you think you’re doing?!” Peter immediately demands when they’re a good distance away. “She is _seven-years-old, _ Wade, you can’t humor her like that! This isn’t anything to be humoring her about! What you’re doing is _wrong _on so many levels, I-I have no idea how I could get into how wrong this is, there’s too many levels, Wade!” 

“Oh, I know—!” 

“Actually, no, I’m_ gonna’ _get into it because it’ll bug me if I don’t! First of all, she is a _seven-year-old—!” _

_ “ _Baby, baby, shh!” Wade presses a finger to Peter’s lips then his whole hand when Peter bares his teeth because Wade needs to focus, he can’t be popping a chub mid-serious conversation. “I know that, okay? I know what I’m doing. I don’t hurt kids, and I don’t involve them in my activities, alright? That’s, like, the second Rule.” 

“What’s the first rule?” 

“Talcum powder helps chaffing." 

“Wha—you _ass_, this isn’t time for jokes—!” 

“Okay, okay! Look, I know? Alright? That’s why I’m going to take her home and have a little talk with her dad,” Wade urges. “That’s it, just a talk!” 

Peter sighs sharply. “Wade…” 

“_Just _a talk, Peter, nothing else,” Wade promises, and Peter pauses, assessing. He hadn’t used his real name since they met, preferring nicknames. It’s almost funny that that’s how Peter can tell that Wade is being serious. “No unaliving—just…listen, don’t call the cops, alright? I’ll find her mom or I’ll find out where she lives, and I’ll bring her back and then I’ll come back here—easy, okay? Trust me, I’m a professional.” 

“I don’t trust you at all.” 

“Ouch,” Wade says, but accepts it. He deserves that. 

“But you _are _a professional—sort of,” he adds, quickly, when Wade brightens again. “_Sort of _a professional. You just—you _need _to take her home and _promise me _you won’t do anything illegal?” 

“_Well—!” _

“Wade,” Peter grabs his shoulder, tightly. Hazel eyes look imploringly into his own blue ones and Wade has a very hard time looking away, his heart caught in his throat. It’s times like this when he’s painfully reminded of how beautiful this boy is and how much Wade doesn’t deserve his friendship—much less anything else. If there ever could be anything else, with his ugly mug and ugly _everything else_. “Just this once would you please listen to me?” 

“Aw, hell,” Wade says after a moment, getting his bearings back. “When you look at me like _that, _you make it real hard to say no. I’m onto you!” He points a finger at him, playfully, but hastily steps back, hoping his face isn’t as hot as it feels. He fingers itch for his mask. “You and your mesmerizing green eyes. I won’t fall for it next time!” 

Peter cocks a brow at him but chuffs out a chuckle. “Sure, Wade. Just take her home, okay? I expect you back here after you do. If you take longer than two hours, I’m gonna’ be _pissed. _” 

“Yessire! I’ll be back in three hours!” 

“TWO!” 

“Two and a half!” Wade salutes and then heads back to the little girl, brightly exclaiming their departure with the kid tucked securely against his side, hand held in his protectively. Wade slips on his mask after another moment and Ellie coos at it, exclaiming she’d seen it on TV before and that her mom always liked him, too, because he helped out people like her. Peter can’t help but wonder if Wade _ does _have a child at home, or has had one, since he carries himself around Ellie so naturally. Wade’s personal life is a tightly kept secret, no matter how much Peter casually tries to pry. 

Peter decides he’ll ask seriously when he comes back, then scolds himself. 

He promised himself when he took this job that he wouldn’t befriend any of the people that visited the bar—no matter what, no matter if Wade Wilson is the most interesting, irreverent, brutal, and _ kindest _ person he’d ever met. 

* * *

Wade returns three hours later with blood on his shirt and a busted lip. 

“Hey, baby! I came back like a good boy, where’s my reward?” 

“Wade, you ass, you’re _late! _ You—oh, jeez, what happened? Your face!” Peter frets, grabbing a clean rag from under the counter and handing it to Wade.

'Wow, rude, you know I have a condition."

Peter snorts, biting his lip to stifle a grin. "No, you moron, you're bleeding! Are you okay?” 

Wade just presses the rag Peter has in his hand to his face and grins brightly at him. 

“Punched the shit out of her dad, is what I did! You should have seen her, Petey, she was all like ‘suplex him!’ and I was like ‘I don’t have the lumbar strength to do that after Guam but I _ can _uppercut him’ and she was okay with that, I am so glad she’s so flexible, she’ll go far in life,” Wade babbles, ignoring Peter’s narrowing eyes. “And, also, he hit me first,” he adds upon seeing his look. 

“Wade, seriously? You _promised _you wouldn’t do anything illegal!” 

“I didn’t!” 

“You assaulted a man!” 

“_He hit me first!” _ Wade snarls, startling Peter back a step. Wade has argued with him before, but it’s always been playful, even if Peter was truly angry with him. It’s why Peter can’t hold his anger with the mercenary; his jokes and croons and his pretty blue eyes always made Peter cave. But Wade had never raised his voice at him like that. Peter has always wondered how such a goofball like Wade could ever be a mercenary, especially one with high notoriety, but it’s instances like this that preview the type of person Wade was _outside _of the haven of the bar. “Besides, that’s the least of your concerns, considering when I dropped the kid off, he was beating the shit out of her mom with a belt—and not in the fun way, either,” Wade adds, bitterly. “Her mom sent her out with the neighbors but she came to find me instead, that’s why she was all the way out here alone. Her real dad’s dead, mom found a new boyfriend, turns out he wasn’t as nice as he said he was.” 

“He…he hits her?” 

“Yeah. Ellie-belly came here to try and get me to _ stop him _from hitting her mom,” Wade says, leaning forward broodingly. “She was scared he would take it too far one day and kill her,” he confesses, ignoring Peter’s flinch. “So I did the next best thing: I threatened him, and I’ll keep an eye on him for a while. If he raises his hand at Ellie, though, I’m gonna’ do more than beat the shit out of him with a fucking spatula.” 

“…_ Spatula?” _ Peter can’t help it: he laughs, slapping a hand over his mouth immediately after. But it’s too late: Wade perks up at the sound and sends him his infamous Cheshire grin, his quiet fury draining at the sound. “Um, I mean, you, uh,” Peter snorts, unable to help himself, “b-beat him with a spatula?” 

“Listen, it was the only thing I could get a hold of in such a short amount of time and, honestly, I should have known better than to send a seven-year-old to go get me something to defend myself with!” 

Peter gives a full-belly laugh, and doesn’t notice the way Wade’s eyes go all soft and fond. 

“I even got my payment,” Wade says, proudly. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a Voltron ring. “Voltron: Defenders of the Galaxy. Limited edition Defender’s _ring_. I am _ so _ happy with this exchange—I’ve been looking for the Yellow ring for _months_ _ !” _

“Steep price, Wade,” Peter plays along, smiling crookedly. “I’m glad you don’t give discounts, even to little kids.” 

“Of course not, who do you take me for? Fat Gandalf over there?” Wade scoffs exaggeratedly, putting his ring back in his jacket’s pocket. “This is America. It’s an eat-all country! You can’t be givin’ handouts like that or else you’ll throw the whole country into shit! Or so the Republicans say.” 

Peter shakes his head, noticing a patron coming up to the bar. “Sure. Stay humble, Wade Wilson."

“Yeah…and, Peter?” Wade says, dropping a couple of bills on the counter. He leaves a couple hundred bills for Peter as a tip in his tip jar. 

“Yeah?” he turns, expecting Wade to either ask for a drink or say something stupid. 

He does neither, and that’s why he doesn’t respond as quickly as he usually would. 

“I’m sorry for raising my voice at you earlier,” Wade apologizes, sincerely. “That was really shitty of me and I didn’t mean to scare you. Anyway, have fun, kid, don’t stay up too late. Get home safe,” he adds with a weary smile, and it’s only then that Peter notices how _ tired _Wade looks all of a sudden. 

He has a feeling there was more than just a rough brawl with an abusive father but, before he can ask, Wade walks out of the bar and then he has a cranky gang-member demanding a whole bottle of tequila on a dare. 

“Just give it to ‘em. Maybe one will overdose and die of alcohol poisoning,” Weasel deadpans, hidden partially behind a curtain with a laptop on his lap. He puts it down to grab a bottle off the top shelf suddenly. “Hey, here you go, Sal—knock yourself out. _ Seriously _. Knock yourself out.” 

“Weasel, that’s our 96-proof bottle!” Peter gapes, worried for the gang-members now chugging the bottle as the bar cheers and money is tossed into their on-going dead-pool. 

“Good. Maybe it’ll work this time.” 

“Oh, jeez. I’ll go get the bucket…” 

Tonight was gonna’ be a long night. 

* * *

“So, I’m pretty sure Wade is dead,” Weasel says two weeks later, casually washing out a glass. 

“_ What?!” _ Peter shrieks, snapping his head to his boss. “Wait, what, no—no, no, where did you hear that?” 

“Nowhere. I’m just pretty sure he’s dead. Haven’t seen him in _ days _ and he hasn’t come by to pick up jobs, either. Hasn’t even dropped me a text about your ass—that was the _ real _sign. He does that, like, at least twice a week and keeps bribing me to take sneak-pics of it.”

At Peter's gawking look, Weasel hastily adds: "I haven't! Recently...."

Peter ignores that entirely, too busy wound up over the fact that _Wade might be dead._

“Wade...maybe he has other people he can…ask for jobs to? Maybe he can’t use his phone,” Peter suggests, unsure. “I-I mean, he’s been gone longer than this before, right?” 

“What the fuck? No way, he hates cold calling, and he doesn’t have a direct line for jobs or else he’d never get any fucking sleep,” Weasel snorts. “It’s why he comes to _ me _ for jobs and he hasn’t in two weeks. He’s always takin’ jobs, even if they’re super small or just recon. It keeps ‘ em busy. His private line is always on, too, it’s a back-up measure,” Weasel adds, shrugging. “But it’s been dead for a few days. If he ain’t back here in, like, two more days, I get to claim that sweet, sweet payout for the dead pool,” Weasel nods up, and Peter flicks his eyes to the dead-pool chalkboard, where _WADE W. WILSON _is etched at the very top with a highest bid count. Peter isn’t sure if they ran out of space on the chalkboard or they decided that was all the zero’s they were willing to payout. 

“Isn’t he your best friend?” Peter asks, weakly. 

“Yeah, but he’s still a dick,” Weasel goes to the back for some supplies. 

Wade doesn’t drop by that night, or the next morning or the next evening. 

But Weasel’s been making calls and he can’t find anyone who would give him a tip as to where one Wade Wilson was or his status. He calls Wade’s home-line and receives a ‘_the number you have called has been disconnected…’ _ which isn’t _ rare, _ per say, but Wade generally keeps him updated on his new numbers. He doesn’t even answer his second burner phone or his private-line, which is when Weasel _ really _starts to get nervous and Peter starts to want to go out looking for him himself. 

Honestly, Peter promised himself that he would not befriend any of the bar regulars, but that was bullshit from the beginning. 

Peter Parker can _ only _ get attached—it’s his thing, he isn’t good at removing himself emotionally from things, so he isn’t surprised that he is _ extremely worried _ for Wade and that it’s making him snappier and quieter than usual, as his mind fills with worries and nightmares about Wade’s status. He feels sick. What if Wade _is _dead? But what if he _ isn’t _ and he’s just a hostage somewhere? He takes so many dangerous jobs, he goes after such dangerous _ people… _

There were weeks when Wade didn’t drop by but he _always _called, if only to banter with Peter through the line, and Peter had been getting concerned even _ before _ Weasel dropped that bomb, but now he’s worried sick for the man and is _ so close _to just looking for him himself and getting himself into all sorts of trouble for the goofy regular. 

His stomach feels cramped and his lungs tight _all the time. _His anxiety pills aren't working; he feels sick constantly and he can't sleep.

He would have gone looking, too, if Wade hadn’t dropped by the very night Peter silently decided to go search for him himself after his shift. 

“HOLLA ATCHA’ BOY!” Wade shouts in greeting. The bar explodes with whines and grumbles at his appearance and Wade gasps, offended. “What the fuck, guys? I pay for your beer sometimes, y’know, a little appreciation would be nice! No wonder all your motherfuckers are alone and bitter, your asses are ungrateful! SKRT!” 

Peter whips around at the sound, inexplicably _ relieved _ but also so incredibly, incredibly _ furious _ . More furious than he has been in a _ very long time _. 

He’ll think about why later. 

“_WADE WINSTON WILSON! _” 

“Heeey, baby boy, I missed your beautiful face—OW, oh, wow, okay, _ hot _ but also, what did I do now? Ouchie—Baby, hey, maybe not in public?” Wade whines when Peter rounds the bar and grabs him by the cuff. 

“Where the _fuck _have you been?” 

“Uh,” Wade blinks, thrown. “Er. Home?” 

“Weasel called your home, Wade, _tell the truth _before I shove this beer bottle down your throat and you’re known as the Merc with _No Mouth_,” Peter threatens, tightening his grip on Wade’s jacket. Wade gulps. “Where. Have. You. _Been?” _

“Hey, Wilson! Getting’ yer ass handed to you by your boy?” someone jeers, and the bar explodes in mocking laughter. 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, guys, but I’d like to see fat Rhonda ride a dick as good as he does,” Wade claps back, earning himself a chorus of _oo’s _at the burn. 

“_Wade_,” Peter grits out, out of patience. 

“_Probably _—probably as good as he does. I wouldn’t know, you haven’t ridden my dick, but I bet you’re amazing?” Wade adds, just in case. 

Peter cusses under his breath and drags his sorry ass outside as the bar breaks out into wild laughter and ooo-ing again. Wade can hear Weasel taking bets before the backdoor bangs shut and Peter—with surprising strength for a lanky nerd—slams him up against the wall in the alley, not giving a crap when Wade whines about the cold and piss smell. 

“Spill it, Wilson—where the hell have you been? I just need a reason, not details,” Peter adds, sternly. 

“Well, I was on a quest to find myself when—URGH!” Wade chokes when Peter slams him against the wall again, green eyes alight with thinning patience and fury. “Ow, okay, uncle! I was, uh, babysitting! NO, NOT THE GOODS, I’m serious! Look, the situation with Ellie got…_ worse _, uh, and her mom asked me if I could take care of her for a couple’a days while she worked something out with her old man,” Wade awkwardly explains, watching as the anger bleeds out of Peter’s eyes and worry and surprise take their place. The grip on his jacket’s collar loosens. “And I had to move out last-second because, well, let’s face it, my old place was a fucking shithole and no place for a kid to be hanging around in, so I got a better apartment in a less shitty part of town and I had to cut off everyone while she was there. I can’t, uh, have anyone know about her,” Wade adds quietly. “I don’t exactly have the best reputation, y’know?” 

“Oh…” 

“Bad for biz and all,” Wade tries to cover up. “I mean, what, _ me? _ Deadpool? Taking care of a kid? I’d never get calls back if _that _got out!” 

More like, he would be getting _all _the calls and unsightly visitors due to his occupation, Peter realizes grimly. Wade doesn’t have any family or partners, as far as Peter knows, and Weasel had once let slip that Wade had a girlfriend _ once upon a time _who he’d loved very much. 

Weasel didn’t finish the story, but Peter got the idea. 

“You could have at least let Weasel know. He was worried about you,” Peter says, stiffly. 

“Were _ you _ worried about me?” Wade asks, slyly. 

“You’re my best tipper—I can’t have you die or else I’d never be able to make my collectible figure payments,” Peter evades and drops him, heading back to the bar. 

“Gasp! You collect figures, too, Petey? Oh, my god, we have so much in common! Let’s fuck!” Wade scrambles, following behind him faithfully. 

“How about I tell you what I’ve told you the last 45 times you’ve asked me that? _No_." 

“Oh, come on!” Wade whines. “Just once!” 

“No!” 

“I’ll let you top!” 

“_ No!” _

“Forever?” 

“_You’d _like that, wouldn’t you?” Peter snorts when Wade looks around carefully, then enthusiastically nods with a wicked grin. “No.” 

“I can cover my face and you can pretend I’m someone else?” 

“I…that’s just _sad, _Wade.” 

“So you’ll do it?!” 

“NO!” 

“But I’ve got,” Wade looks around again and Peter blinks, curious. “Get closer! C’mon, it’s important!” Wade hisses, hurriedly, and Peter leans in without thinking. “_Super penis,” _he says solemnly, nodding down at his lap with a ridiculous waggle of his brows. 

Peter snorts back a laugh and pretends he isn’t absolutely charmed and so absolutely _relieved _that Wade is back and joking around with him again. 

“You’re so _gross_, and also no,” Peter flicks his forehead gently and ignores his whining, a silly smile on his face the entire time. 

“C’mon, I know you’re curious!” Wade whines. “Aren’t you even a _little curious? _It’s totally hetero if we do it in a public restroom!” 

“Pass.” 

“But it’s fucking_ huge! _ I’m not even kidding, I wish I were kidding, I _ may _ be kidding—who knows! You’ll have to figure it out for yourself! That’s the fun of it!” Wade says coaxingly but Peter merely snorts, watching a patron wave over at him for a round. The rest of the group turns to look at them and Peter tries not to let his nerves get to him. Everyone in Sister Margaret’s had _some _criminal background, some dirty secret no one or everyone knows about, and this wouldn’t be the first time the patrons of the bar had eyed Peter like he was hiding something particularly interesting. 

Peter guesses, having chosen a place like this, that he doesn’t blame them for _thinking _he has something to hide. 

Too bad he doesn’t—he’s just at wits end with rent and bills and, unsurprisingly, working part-time in a bar whose turn-over rate was_ massive _due to the dangerous clientele, pays well. 

Extremely well. 

“Haven’t you heard? It’s not the size of the wave, but the motion of the ocean,” Peter quips back. 

“That sounds like something someone with a small dick made up to feel better about themselves.” 

Peter laughs brightly and Wade stays an extra five hours trying to make him laugh like that again. 


	2. Bonus

“So,” Weasel clears his throat. “There’s a betting pool on how long it’d take for you to crack and fuck Wade.” 

Peter nearly drops the bottle he had been placing under the bar counter. “What? Seriously? _That’s_ a thing everyone’s betting on now?” 

“That, and that you’d _totally _top,” Weasel helpfully adds. “There was another betting pool made a while ago about Wade being a power bottom because he likes to get the shit beat out of him so often and your manhandling isn’t making it go away anytime soon so, y’know, _people talked _and then this happened.” 

Peter looks at him flatly. “That’s really narrow-minded and stereotypical.” 

“I know! That’s why I bet that you’d bottom _the first time, _and switch it up when you need to remember what it was that made you like Wade when he inevitably fucks everything up. Again.” 

“And _that’s _extremely depressing,” Peter sighs as he stands, giving his boss a sour look. “Don’t you guys have better things to do than bet on my love life? What if I already _have _a partner, huh? What if I had a fiancée who I was very happy with and who thinks I’m actually working late-hours at some fancy lab facility instead of hanging around in this shithole?” 

“¡HOLA MUCHACHOS! ¿QUIEN SE QUIERE MORIR HOY? Estoy tomando aplicaciones,” Wade screams as he kicks open the door to the bar. The bar erupts in collective groans and cheers. 

A beer bottle breaks against a wall somewhere. 

Peter and Weasel watch as Wade laughs manically when one of the guys asks him to shotgun a beer with him. 

“You _do _have one—and he’s here,” Weasel deadpans. “Hey, make sure he doesn’t puke on the bar, alright? I’m not cleaning that shit up again.” 

Peter groans and buries his face in his arms, ignoring the six people who are now collectively shot-gunning beer and getting the damn stuff_ everywhere. _

Weasel is going to make him clean that up when they close. He wanted to go home early, for once, and, who knows, _take a long bath, maybe?_

“I could have someone at home, y’know! They could even be _a girl!” _Peter shouts feebly. 

Weasel sends him a _ look _ and Peter drops his chin on the bar counter stubbornly, grumbling about damn merc’s and their illegal background checks and his apparent transparency about being _very gay _. 

“Whoo! That was wild. Oh, man, I don’t feel so good,” Wade suddenly says, gripping his stomach. 

“Bathroom. NOW!” Peter demands, and Wade knocks over a mafia goon in his rush to get to the bathroom, which sets off a violent chain of events that involves two knock outs, one assault with a deadly weapon, and someone threatening a lawsuit when they slip on the beer foam on the floor because there wasn’t a Caution sign set up—all in a matter of ten minutes. 

So much for closing early and fitting in an extra few hours of sleep. 

He’s lucky he set up his university schedule so he had evening classes and online classes or else he would have dropped out by now. 

“Ahh, I’m feeling _ soo _ much better. Let it air out, boys, it’s _nasty in there. _I shouldn’t have had that last taco earlier,” Wade mentions when he walks up to the bar counter, Peter glowering at him hard enough that Wade doesn’t dare get too close to him like he normally would have. “So, what’s shakin’ bacon?” 

“Because of the ethical and moral systems in place, I will not kill you,” Peter states and Wade nods sagely, humming. 

“Ever thought of ditching them?” 

“_All the time, _” Peter hisses, narrowing his eyes at Wade, who clutches his chest and sends him a faux-flattered look. 

“Oh, honey! Take a lady to dinner first before you wet her panties!” 

“I…why do I even bother? You’re incorrigible,” Peter sighs, gives up, and just fills a shot with whiskey for Wade, ignoring Weasel’s satisfied look when Peter’s ire inevitably dies down. Peter can’t help but smile very gently when Wade goes back to making his goofy observations about the world around them. 

“Ten G’s in the hole,” Weasel hollers when another patron sidles up to him, giving squirrely looks at Peter and Wade. “Any other betters?” 

Two more people approach. 

"Ooh! Me! Me, me, me!" Wade waves around a few bills, nearly falling off his seat as Weasel sends him a flat look but accepts the currency. 

Peter takes a deep, calming breath and ignores the betting pool set around them. He only lets himself think _once— _ just once, Wade can’t fault him on that—that, really, life is _better _when Wade is around—scarred face, bombastic laughter, and crude humor included. 

“Only once,” Peter mumbles. 

“Aw, thinking about me, baby?” 

“ONLY ONCE,” Peter snaps, but it’s too late—the damage has been done. 

Peter wouldn’t have it any other way. 


End file.
